


A Question, A Joke and A Compromise

by Whynotitsfun



Series: TSC Prompt #65: Is there a reason you never say my first name? [2]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Questions, Resentments, Roadtrips, Unrequited... Something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whynotitsfun/pseuds/Whynotitsfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orgy Armada Challenge<br/>#65 Charloe style</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question, A Joke and A Compromise

                Sitting on a log across from his so-called partner, Bass couldn’t take his eyes off of her. They’d been on the road for weeks. Having parted ways with Miles in Little Rock, they were making their way back to the border to meet up with him.

                They’d watched D.C. burn and had made their way as a trio back west, ferreting out Patriot cells as they went. Sometimes, it had been a small hidden handful. Other times, it had been a bold encampment that had been hell bent on taking out as many people as possible before being put down like the rabid pack of khaki dogs they were.

                In Little Rock, there had been two cells, so they’d split up. Rather, Charlie had gone off alone to take on the smaller of the two bands herself and Bass had followed her for Miles’ piece of mind (and just maybe his own).  They’d been on the road for weeks alone now, slowly working their way southwest and it was starting to get to him.

                It was becoming increasingly difficult to constantly remind himself that this was the little girl that he’d known once upon the time. She was his best friend’s niece (well, probably closer than that—Bass had always found _that_ timing suspicious), and the girl that had sworn to kill him. She was also the former lover of his absent son.

                There were all sorts of things that he needed to keep straight in his head when it came to dealing with Charlotte Matheson. With each passing day (and night) he found himself struggling with it all the more, however. Sometimes he wondered if this young woman hadn’t been put on this earth for the sole purpose of punishing him for his long list of sins.

                “Got a problem, Monroe?” Charlie said as she looked up from her half of the squirrel he’d caught for them earlier.

                “Huh? No,” Bass mumbled. He looked away, guiltily. Thankfully, the flickering light from their campfire would obscure the blush he felt rising when he’d been caught staring. Yes, she was definitely here to torture him.

                “Well, okay then.” Her tone was so dismissive, just like it always was. She was constantly going out of her way to make sure he knew just how inconsequential she thought he was.

                Long moments passed where the only sounds to be heard were the chirping of those diehard crickets that refused to accept that summer was over and the occasional popping and snapping from their fire. When Bass thought he could take it no more, he finally said something. “Why do you always do that?”

                Charlie spared him another sidelong glance. “Do what?”

                “Why do you always call me that?”

                She just sort of blinked at him for a second, like she was trying to figure out what he was getting at. And, then she shot him a look that told him she thought he’d just asked her the most bizarre question possible. “Because it’s your name?”

                “I have a first name. Why haven’t you ever used it?” Bass didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Everyone else called him that. They’d been calling him that for years—even when the power was still on, there was a very short list of people that had _ever_ called him Sebastian or Bass. The only two people left alive that used something other than his surname were Miles and Rachel. Yet from Charlie, _Monroe_ always sounded like such an insult.

                Charlie just shrugged at him as she went back to her dinner. “I dunno. What difference does it make?”

                Indeed. Why should he care? “I—it doesn’t… I mean…” Bass trailed off, trying his best to shake off the feel of his own stupidity.

                “Well?” Charlie now wore a look of utter amusement at his sudden discomfort.

                “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

                And then, she stared to laugh. It wasn’t a childish giggle or a slightly amused chuckle. No it was one of those _If I was drinking milk I’d be squirting out my nose,_ full on belly laughs. She may have even snorted once or twice while she was at it. “Oh my God! You sound like such a girl!” She snickered as she grabbed at her now aching ribs and gasped to catch her breath.

                Annoyed and now completely mortified, Bass got up. He tossed what was left of his own dinner into the flames and grabbed his stolen Patriot rifle. “I’m glad you’re having such a good time. I’m going to do a perimeter check. Every Patriot for a hundred miles is probably following your good mood all the way here.” He announced this with as much authority as he could muster and then stomped off with the sounds of her dying laughter ringing in his ears.

                Bass spent entirely too long making his way around their camp. It was bad enough that most people whispered their hatred of him under their breath when he walked by. He knew he’d never live down the past and so he didn’t bother trying. The only reason he’d put up with all the animosity and awkwardness of it all was because he had nowhere else to go.

                But, he was supposed to be a part of their team. The idea that Charlie still held him in such contempt and had so little respect for him was just another bitter reminder of what he could never have—forgiveness, a home, family, friends. These things were almost foreign concepts to him now, so long as it had been since he’d experienced any of them.

                After running the perimeter twice—for no good reason (there were no Patriots anywhere near them) and wasting about as much time as he could get away with, Bass finally headed back. In his absence, Charlie had put out both of their bedrolls and had gotten the horses settled for the night. The sign was clear—drop it and go to sleep.

                Grunting his thanks, Bass stretched out on top of his blankets. He slept lightly enough and there were more than enough Rangers in the area (and too few Patriots) that a watch wasn’t really necessary. They hadn’t bothered with it for the past several nights.

                “It’s because I have to remind myself,” Charlie said into the darkness.

                “Hmm?” Bass had almost been asleep when her voice brought him back above the murky and uneasy waters of slumber.

                “You wanted to know why I never use your name? That’s why.”

                He sat up and looked at her in the dying light of the fire. “Remind yourself?” He didn’t quite understand.

                Charlie rolled over on her bedroll, which was its standard, respectable distance from his. She’d only bring it closer if it was raining and their shelter was small or if it was cold and they needed to conserve warmth. “You make it easy to forget—who you are and what you’ve done. And, even if I wanted to forget, I can’t let myself. There’s just too much otherwise.”

                “Oh. I’m sorry.” It felt like a dumb thing to say and was hardly an appropriate response, but what _was_ one supposed to say to something like that? He hadn’t expected that she would or could forget the past, nor had he thought that there’d be a chance of her ever having forgiven him. Maybe he’d been holding out, hoping just a little though.

                He supposed that in the end, he should be happy with the fact that she’d reluctantly decided to tolerate him and had even learned to work with him (as well as her uncle/father/whatever ever had). He just had to accept that she’d always hate him and that nothing would change it. Allowing himself to care or be bothered by it would only make it harder.

                He laid back down and tried to get comfortable again. What was left of the fire warmed his back as he faced the wilderness around them, just in case. His rifle was within easy reach and his hand on the hilt of his sword, always at the ready.

                In the morning, they got up and ate and few apples from a nearby tree before getting started on their journey. They were only a few days from their rendezvous point with Miles and they needed to keep moving. As far as Bass was concerned, the sooner he was able to find time away from her, the better.

                The conversation from the night before was still lingering uncomfortably between them. Charlie seemed determined to ignore it and Bass knew that it was best for both of them if he did as well. There’d be no point in it otherwise. Revisiting the whole thing would only highlight his status all the more.

                Strangely enough, that night when they were lying on their bedrolls, he could have sworn that she’d set hers just a little closer than was strictly necessary or normal. He was almost asleep when he barely made out the sound of her voice. “Goodnight… Sebastian.”

                Bass let the smile that was forcing its way to the surface take over his face. “Goodnight… Charlotte.”

 


End file.
